Discover-Desire-Delirium
by kismet4891
Summary: Canon, Three Parts, Mature: Katniss has fought hard to control every aspect of her life. The Capitol tried to control her, but it has fallen. The Rebellion tried to control her, but it has ended. Now the only person left in her life is Peeta, and he never tried to control her, but what if she wanted him to?


**_DISCOVER, PART I_**

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**Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own THG. The following content is mature and alludes to and contains acts of a sexual nature. Reader discretion is advised.**

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Peeta and I grew together slowly, similar to the wounds on our skin; the remnants of our feigned relationship had to be completely stripped away before something fresh could grow up in the wake of what remained. In many ways, the development of our relationship mirrored the growth and revival of the district. Before we could truly come together we had to heal ourselves. For Peeta this included repetition, routine, baking, painting, and caring for me. It was obvious when he returned, that the boyish love he had felt for me had been stripped away and neither he, nor I, understood what remained. In many ways, he was the stronger of the two of us. My strength had been bled from my body the moment I watched the one person who I truly loved be engulfed by flame. As my will to live faltered, Peeta's desire to keep me here with him strengthened, and so did he.

Slowly, like the scorched and tattered hair on my head, I began to reemerge with Peeta's help. He fed me, nourished my body and the remainders of my psyche with stubborn persistence. I pretended to be ambivalent to his presence, but when he was not with me I craved that comfort that I pulled from simply hearing him breathe while he sat next to me on the couch. As ambivalent as I pretended to be to his proximity, I was also painfully aware of how much had changed. It was clear that any remnants of his love for me had been altered into something platonic and more of a caregiver position. There were stretches of time where I would just lay and stare, willing my body to stop functioning by showing indifference towards my physical needs. These were the days that Peeta would ladle broth into my unspeaking lips, fill my ears with mundane news of his latest painting project, and gently bathe the body I was working hard to neglect. He persisted in these actions with the devotion of a parent caring for a child, not a man wanting to revive his mentally debilitated love. On good days he did not push a physical relationship or discussions of our feelings; Peeta merely stood by my side and guided me out of the darkness.

During this time I found myself mourning his love. Yes, it was apparent that he still loved me, but what I missed was him being in love with me. I felt that he was trapped by me, held here by some unrealistic sense of devotion to the ghost of a relationship we had never been given time to explore. I developed the desire to give him something, anything, as the debt that he felt he owed me from trying to kill me, had been repaid many times over. I longed to give him freedom from me so that he would pursue a life with someone else. Peeta needed someone who was worthy of him, who he could love and be loved by, someone who was not broken, who did not need to be tended to like a newborn, and someone that he would flourish with. He would never leave me like this, wasting away, a shell of a person the Rebellion had billed me as. I pushed myself to stay in the present. I bathed, I left my house, I did my best to let go of the things tethering me to the couch, and eventually I took to hunting again. If Peeta could tell that something other than the desire to heal was pushing my progress, he never said so, but I could tell that he was thrilled with my progress.

We sat beside one another one night, weeks after my decision to be strong for Peeta and let him go, when I realized that I was ready, it was now or never. I was stretched out beside the fire, staring at the ceiling and Peeta had his feet kicked up on a stool reading. "Thank you." I croaked out, my voice hoarse from not being used, "for everything." This time the ensuing croak had nothing to do with the months I had remained silent, and more to do with the fact I was getting ready to dismiss Peeta and essentially ensure my self destruction.

Peeta dropped his book to his lap and smiled down at me. "Of course, Katniss." He didn't ask for an explanation because he simply knew what I was expressing. His warm blue eyes appraised me carefully, "Is everything okay?"

I calculatedly broke eye contact with him and murmured, "It will be soon." Referencing that it would be okay for him, not me, because he needed me out of his life to move on, and I needed him to survive. So no, I would not be okay, but in letting him go I could ensure that he would be. I stood and approached his chair, my hand landed on his cheek and his neck stiffened instantly. My stomach dropped as I realized how much I had been holding him back, forcing him to stay here with me because he felt he needed to care for me. I decided to allow myself five more minutes of selfishness, and then I would free him. I left my hand on his cheek, and he made no move to remove it despite being obviously uncomfortable.

"Katniss, are you sure you're okay?" Sweet Peeta. This precious man, who was always looking out for me, even when I was trying to gather the courage to finally take care of him.

"I'm sorry." I whispered as I leaned down and melded my mouth to his taking one last gift to remember Peeta by. He remained motionless as I held my lips to his, relishing in how they felt against my own, I pretended he was kissing me back. That kiss was something to hold onto and replay when he was long gone. I pulled away and was greeted by intense blue eyes staring at me. I turned and Peeta grabbed my wrist as I moved to walk away, "Peeta go. I'm better now."

He tugged on my wrist and I fell into his lap, "What was that for?" Peeta's forehead creased and he looked pained, his voice seemed strained, and even his eyes seemed worried.

"I just," I searched for the words to tell him that I just wanted one last kiss, "I just, uh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." Peeta had been at my side since he got back; he'd even undressed and bathed me at my worst, but for some reason the proximity felt different, closer, and more intense. I dropped my eyes from his and tried to stand, but Peeta's arms anchored me to his lap.

His grip on me tightened and I started to fear that I had triggered a flashback. I hadn't seen him have one since he returned, but I also wasn't always mentally present. I briefly entertained the idea of welcoming death by Peeta's hands, then I realized how much that would damage him when the episode ended. While it may be a convenient out for me, I was not so selfish that I would allow Peeta the guilt of coming around with my body broken at his feet.

"There's no pretending anymore, why did you do that?" His voice was high, and his eyes a bit wild. At first I thought he was disgusted by me, but his eyes and expression belied something different than aversion. He'd asked me why I would want to kiss him, it should have been clear. I wasn't sure if he just wanted to hear me say it, or if he was really confused. If he was asking because he still cared for me and wanted to know that I cared for him, I couldn't mess this up. I realized that maybe I didn't have to let him go, maybe I could keep Peeta. "Katniss?" Peeta implored, as always I was at a loss for words and terrified to mess everything up. Instinct told me that his uncertainty of my intentions had caused his indifference to the first kiss, and I wrapped my arms around him as I kissed him again. This time I held it until he hesitantly responded to the weight of my mouth against his.

The kiss was similar to two others that we had shared, but also so entirely different. We had all the time in the world to explore, and to learn the hundreds of different ways to make the other gasp. I broke away from him and my head lulled back, my eyes closed, and I prepared for whatever it was that would come next.

What came next surprised me. Things continued in the fashion that they had been for the months preceding the kiss, just now there was kissing. A lot of kissing. I found myself preoccupied in thoughts of Peeta when we were not together, and my mind searched for ways to articulate the ways in which I desired for him to touch me. He had returned to staying in my bed and I was consumed with the yearning to further the physical nature of our relationship, but unsure as to how to proceed. Peeta seemed perfectly content with kisses and timid caresses, but my patience was wearing thin, and I knew that I needed more. One night as we lay meshing our mouths together and timidly caressing, I inched my hands down his torso and into Peeta's sleep trunks. The move was bold and startled him, Peeta gasped and tried to still my hand so that we could talk about it before we went further.

With Peeta there were always words, and he needed reassurance that I was doing this because I wanted to and not because I felt coerced. The time for words had passed a week ago when I had accidentally grazed his erection and felt a surge of pure bliss rocket through my body from hearing the small moan that passed his lips.

"The only thing I want to talk about is how I learn to do this correctly." I interrupted him with my lips locking to his before he could persist with rambling. Soon I felt him tug my hand from his shorts and I broke the kiss to protest, this time it was Peeta who interrupted, "Spit in your hand." He cradled my hand in his and held it to my face; I must have looked puzzled because he explained further, "the friction, it's uncomfortable without any wetness." His words were muffled and I could tell that he was embarrassed. I fought the urge to match his emotional state. We were treading into unfamiliar territory; one of us had to be the guide.

What he said made perfect sense, I couldn't argue with nature, and it was true that the skin on his erect length was dry and my hand was also without moisture. I was keenly aware that elsewhere there was natural lubricant slipping from me in the spot where our bodies were meant to connect. I didn't want to spit on my hand and touch Peeta, that seemed like a dirty and disrespectful act. We had been through so much, and he much more than I. Peeta's body had been battered, infected, bruised, used and broken at the whims of the Capitol. I refused to defile the moment by spitting on him. He was too precious to me for that. I sat up, he looked at me puzzled, and I could see that he thought he had scared me off.

I stood wordlessly and slipped out of my underwear. Peeta watched me with large, questioning eyes as I straddled his knees, one flesh the other synthetic, and ran my hand between my legs gathering the silky fluid that trickled from between my thighs. Doing so made sense to me because that was the lubrication meant to caress the tender skin of Peeta's manhood, not spit. We both gasped as my hand came into contact with the swollen flesh between my legs, I let it linger there for a moment , and the ache that had been caused by kissing and touching Peeta was spurred into something larger.

I reached out and took him in my hand. Peeta briefly placed his hand over mine and showed me exactly how to touch him. The sight of him pink and slippery, pulsing in my hand, and moving through my fingers caused muscles in my lower abdomen to contract, the ache intensified and I knew in that moment what I wanted and needed to feel whole again. I made a decision based on the instinctual need to become one with Peeta and quell the feeling of incompleteness I was experiencing.

Peeta's neck was bent backwards on the pillow and his eyes were closed, or else he may have stopped me as I positioned myself over him and sank down onto his length. The pain was searing, and although tiny tears slipped from the corners of my eyes it passed as quickly as it came leaving me feeling incredibly full. Peeta's eyes opened with start and he pushed himself up sputtering, trying to string together a coherent sentence. Briefly I wondered if I had done something out of turn, made an irrevocable mistake, but the way that Peeta was panting, and the scrunched face he was making spoke of the pleasure he was feeling.

"Katniss," he finally spoke and his words were breathless and hurried, "What? You didn't have to, I didn't mean…oh god you feel so good." My body had quickly become accustomed to Peeta's girth, and I raised myself up off of him just slightly before pushing back down again. I repeated this action, stretching and filling myself with Peeta, becoming accustomed to the foreign feeling of being joined with him. Peeta gave up on trying to communicate with words, his eyes were trained on where our bodies were connected watching the messy rhythm of my hips as his own rolled up into me trying to match and catch on. I too focused on where we were connected and watched with wonder as he disappeared into me and then back again, I had never seen anything more beautiful or connected than we were in that moment. Our movements began to make me feel something, a twinge of tension below my belly button, the beginnings of a building just as Peeta hastily pushed me back and withdrew from me to spill a creamy fluid all over his stomach. "I'm so sorry." He blurted out.

I misunderstood him, thinking he was apologizing for allowing me to mount him instead of making sure I was okay, "There's nothing to be sorry for, I wanted that." Just because I had just coupled with Peeta did not mean that I was prepared to actually say the words.

"No, I mean I'm sorry for, well you know, going before you did."

"Did what?"

"Come on Katniss, you know." I felt his hand tentatively sliding down in between my legs as he began placing small open mouth kisses along the curve of my neck. "It's your turn to show me what to do."

His fingers rubbed up and down, spreading me slightly, "I, uh, I don't know." It was true, I hadn't done much in the way of self exploration. I shared a bed for years with my younger sister, and then after my first Games there always seemed to be something more pressing. My thoughts began to scatter as the tension in my lower abdomen started to build again, "That seems to be good."

And it did, it felt phenomenal and my body arched up off the bed to push into his touches. Peeta's fingers skimmed a particularly sensitive spot right above where we had been joined minutes previous and a moan escaped my lips. Peeta recognized that he had discovered something monumental so he began working the spot over and over, and the tension built and built before it spilled over into an explosion leaving me a clenching and writhing mess, riding the after effects of his attentions to me.

From there our relationship, and ultimately our healing, progressed naturally and fluidly. It was if the opening up to the carnal nature of our feelings for one another helped us both to live and feel alive. We started to become well acquainted with one another and the initial awkwardness that surrounded our first coupling disappeared into something wonderful that we both took great gratification in. As we became more and more accustomed to each other's bodies and our own sexual needs, I realized that there was something more that I wanted from Peeta, something monumental that I wasn't quite ready to ask for, and Peeta was not prepared to give.

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**A/N: There will be two more parts to this little story. Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it! A big, big thanks to Wildharp, hotpielookedlikehotpie , and WickedlyClever for their help and assistance in the beta'ing and development of this story. You guys are phenomenal people and I cherish your help!**


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